


Stop Traipsing in Mud

by Cat2000



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000
Summary: Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the series The Haunting of Bly Manor and I’m not making any money from this ficSummary: Mrs. Grose comments that, every time Jamie walks into the manor, she reaches for her mop. The last time, she reached for something else
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Stop Traipsing in Mud

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for The Haunting of Bly Manor, up to and including episode two; some references to violence and canon character death

“Honestly, Jamie, you’re worse than the children.” Mrs. Grose shook her head as she eyed the muddy footprints that were now decorating the floor of the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, Mrs. Grose. I’m not _that_ bad.” Jamie sat down at the table and reached for the glass of homemade lemonade the other woman passed her. “At least I’ve only left the mud in one part of the house. And I’ll be going back out to the garden as soon as I’ve eaten something.” She drank down about half of the lemonade and smiled at the other woman. “So. How fast do you think he’ll find the new au pair?”

“That’s difficult to say,” Mrs. Grose answered, mopping the floor where the footprints had been left. “Mr. Wingrave will do his best to find the right person to take care of them. So it might be a little while before someone comes.” She continued to mop until the mud was all gone and then sighed. “You’re really old enough to know to wash the mud off _before_ you come into the house.”

“Have you tried hosing yourself off?” Jamie asked. “The water’s _freezing_.”

“No. I can’t say that I have,” Mrs. Grose answered. “But then again, I’m not the one who works out in the garden and comes in trailing mud all over the place.”

Jamie shrugged and reached for one of the sandwiches. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and do better next time.”

Mrs. Grose stared at Jamie for several long seconds and then shook her head. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie answered, biting into the sandwich. “You really should. I’m a good girl, really. Bringing in mud notwithstanding.”

“I will be back in a minute.” Mrs. Grose walked out of the kitchen.

Jamie continued eating the sandwich and then, once it was finished, she drank the rest of her lemonade. By the time she’d finished, Mrs. Grose had returned to the kitchen, carrying a heavy, ornate hairbrush in her hands. “Are you going to brush my hair?”

“No,” the other woman answered. “I’m going to spank you.”

Jamie’s eyes widened and her eyes shifted from the hairbrush to Mrs. Grose’s face and back again. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not joking,” Mrs. Grose answered. “I can excuse the children bringing in mud. I can give them some allowances for their age and what they’ve been through. But _you_ are old enough to know better. Stand up.”

Jamie did so and watched as the other woman sat in the chair she’d just vacated. Mrs. Grose smoothed her skirt over her legs and then gestured towards her lap. “Bend over.”

She could say no. She could walk out of the kitchen. Return to her work. Maybe the other woman wouldn’t push it if Jamie refused.

But then again, she had made more work for the other woman. Yes, hosing herself off was uncomfortable; even in the summer, when the heat made her hot and sweaty. But that really wasn’t a good enough reason to give Mrs. Grose even more, _unnecessary_ work to do. Still, it was hard to make her feet move forward. Harder still to make herself bend over the other woman’s knees. She shifted slightly, feeling the press of thighs under her stomach, and shuffled forward until her hands were resting on the floor, bracing her tiptoes on the floor on the other side.

The hairbrush tapped a few times against her denim-clad rear and then was brought down in a solid smack that made Jamie’s whole body jerk. The burning sting that engulfed her right buttock was quickly eclipsed by a matching sting on her left, as the hairbrush was smacked down against the opposite cheek.

The smacks from the brush were delivered at a slow, even pace. Mrs. Grose worked her way over Jamie’s entire bottom, all the way down to her thighs, which made Jamie gasp and kick her legs as the burning sting was ignited in the more sensitive spots.

When the hairbrush began landing at the crest of her bottom again, Jamie couldn’t help but begin to squirm in position. Even through her jeans, the hairbrush stung and burned, ensuring that she would find it difficult to sit for a while after the punishment was over.

After a third circuit of smacks from the brush, Jamie was wriggling like a worm caught on a hook. She felt the spanking pause, but instead of being let up, Mrs. Grose slid her hand under her chest, undoing the dungaree straps. Once they were loose, she pulled them down and clear off Jamie’s backside, leaving only the thin layer of her panties as protection between her bottom and the sting of the paddle.

The burning was much more pronounced now, when the hairbrush smacked against the seat of her panties. Jamie gasped out silently and then began to whimper and whine as the brush continued to smack down. When it reached her thighs, bare and unprotected by any layers of clothing, the sting was intense enough that she began to kick her legs.

Losing her panties didn’t come as much of a surprise, but Jamie still threw her hand back to try and stop their descent when she felt them tugged. “No, wait.”

“I want to make sure this is a lesson that sticks in your head.” Mrs. Grose moved Jamie’s hand out of the way, pinning it against her back, and then proceeded to pull her panties down.

There was a split second of cool air wafting across her bare bottom and then the brush was snapping down, hard, against the crest of her right cheek.

“ _Fuck_.” Jamie’s whole body jerked and she almost tried to propel herself off of the other woman’s lap. The impact of the brush on bare skin _burned_ , like fire rippling across her bare skin. She clung to Mrs. Grose’s ankle with her free hand, kicking her legs and whining low in her throat as the brush landed on first one buttock and then the other, painting her entire bottom a fiery red…she was sure.

Up to that point, the strikes from the brush had been hard, but delivered slowly. Now, though, Mrs. Grose began smacking faster, not giving any time between the individual strokes for the pain of each to fully register.

Jamie lost count of how many smacks from the brush were delivered to her bare bottom at the much faster pace, but it wasn’t long before she slumped over the other woman’s knee and began to cry, her bottom stinging and burning like she’d sat down in fire. “I’m sorry!” she cried out, voice breaking. “I won’t bring in mud anymore!”

“I hope you won’t. Because the next time? I won’t be reaching for my mop first. I’ll be reaching for my hairbrush,” Mrs. Grose promised. With one final, extra-hard smack to the center of Jamie’s bottom, making her cry out, she stopped the spanking and pulled Jamie’s panties back into place over her backside, then helped her to stand up.

Immediately, Jamie’s hands shot to her backside and she rubbed vigorously, trying to soothe the burning that had erupted in both cheeks and her thighs. With a final, quiet whimper, she then pulled her dungarees back into place, hissing as the rough denim rubbed against the scorched skin of her backside. Then, in a quiet, subdued tone, she said, “I’m going back out into the garden. Next time I come back in, I’ll hose myself off.” And maybe the freezing cold water would help cool the fire raging in her bottom.

###

“Every time you come into the manor, I reach for my mob,” Mrs. Grose commented, as the two of them watched the children.

“That wasn’t the _only_ thing you reached for the last time,” Jamie commented, shifting in her chair at the remembered burn that had kept her company throughout the rest of her working day. And well into the next.

“No. It wasn’t,” Mrs. Grose agreed. “But I know what I’ll be reaching for first the next time you traipse mud into the manor.”

** The End **


End file.
